


we've said this a million times before; once more won't make it mean any less

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-03
Updated: 2009-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>That sort of feeling is absolutely terrifying.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've said this a million times before; once more won't make it mean any less

_let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie._

 

Emily says I love you like it's so easy.

She says it when Naomi's curled up against her back, pressing lazy kisses to her neck and the space where it and Emily's shoulders meet. She says it when they're eating ice cream together, sitting on the curb in front of the shop, after she leans forward and kisses the corner of Naomi's mouth, flashing her an easy smile. And when they make love, she whispers it very quietly in Naomi's ear when her hand's sliding up Naomi's top (or sometimes it's said right before she comes and she pants out the words, biting down on her bottom lip and digging her nails into Naomi's forearm).

I love you, she says, and it's easy, because that's all there is to it. Just Emily and Naomi and those words between them and things are simple, even if they're not, and it's nice. Nicer than Naomi would have expected it to be and it makes her _feel_ nicer than she ever thought she could be. It's them and those three little words which could probably bring down mountains, Naomi thinks, in her weaker moments of hopeless romanticism.

But it feels like that sometimes, especially when Emily's hair is falling in her eyes and her legs are tangled in-between Naomi's and her hand is on Naomi's waist, fingers stroking across the bare skin of Naomi's hip, and she'll just _say_ it straight-out, without any sort of expectation at all. And it will feel like being crushed, as if the ceiling is pressing down on her and pushing all the air out of her lungs.

(That sort of feeling is absolutely terrifying.)

And then there are the moments when Naomi catches herself reaching forward and stroking Emily's hair in the early morning sunlight, on those times when Emily's rolled away and taken all the blankets with her and it jolts her back to that first morning, when she left Emily in her bed and ran away; all that anxiety and fear and uncertainty just comes rushing back to her and she has to pull her hand away and clutch at the blankets because her heart is beating hard enough to break her chest.

(She's not sure if Emily wore her out or just wore her down, but somewhere along the way she stopped running. It'd been like trying to escape from quicksand, anyway; the more she tried to fight it, the more she lost control.

And she knows that somewhere along the way she would have ended up drowning.)

Come back to me, Emily will murmur against her neck, hands resting flush on Naomi's back, breath a bit too hot against Naomi's skin, and she'll know then that she's thinking too much, and she'll kiss the top of Emily's forehead and slip her hand between Emily's thighs, stroking until nails dig into her skin and Emily rolls them both over with a smile that always catches Naomi off-guard; playful and earnest and coy and honest and dirty and sweet all at once and it's another one of those things about Emily that she can't make sense of, all those contradictions bundled up into one small moment.

Naomi doesn't say those three words easily.

They're usually on the tip of her tongue -- more so, in fact, with every day that passes slowly -- but it's the saying them that's difficult. And it should be so simple, Naomi thinks, can't understand why it isn't, can't understand why it's not enough to just _feel_ without having to struggle and say things that can't be said properly, not ever.

(It feels like drowning though, sometimes, when Emily presses her back down on the bed, covering her face with kisses, and the sheets feel so smooth against her legs, as Emily's hands slide up her thighs and her hair tickles Naomi's nose. And then she'll come, gasping for breath, and it will be like surfacing.

She doesn't know how or when it got this bad, wishes sometimes -- most of the time -- that she could find a way to fix it.)

It shouldn't be this easy, falling.

It shouldn't, but it is.

It happens so unexpectedly, catching her off-guard one morning when she's brushing her teeth in the bathroom, Emily still back in the bedroom, sprawled out lazily on the bed in just her bra and knickers, red and black striped, both of them (it makes Naomi think of liquorice). She can taste mint in her mouth as she rinses off her brush and it's in that instant that she realizes she's fallen.

Fallen into a pattern, fallen into a comfortable state of summer bliss, fallen into a relationship. And fallen into -- or for, maybe, but she's not sure if there's a distinction -- Emily, all soft skin and little smiles and deep brown eyes that look hazelnut in the right afternoon sun.

She thinks maybe it shouldn't scare her this much, when sometimes she's overcome by an odd sort of fear, which makes her feel like she can't breathe because all the air's been sucked from the room. It's the sort of thing that leaves her feeling uncertain on those odd mornings when she's only just half-awake and shivering, because Emily's stolen all the blankets from her sometime in the night.

Love should be easy, Naomi thinks. It shouldn't be scary or uncertain or anything like that (she's fairly sure, anyway, Naomi is, can't remember ever reading in any book or magazine ever where it's been mentioned just how damn terrifying it gets, sometimes). Emily makes it look so easy, being able to love someone, slipping into a comfortable lull without wondering if maybe tomorrow things won't work out or that they won't somehow turn this into a nice sort of fairy-tale with a perfect ending.

(But then there are the times when she's lost completely in it -- in _Emily_ \-- and it shouldn't be fair, that she just can't seem to make up her mind sometimes: terrified of falling into this (whatever _this_ was; what they had become) or easing into slow acceptance (because it wasn't so bad, not really, not all the time, being with someone, letting her guard down).)

On nights when she's curled up against Emily's back, pressing kisses to her neck through her too-red hair, when Emily smells of smoke and sweat and soap -- it reminds her of the lake, always, like everything else; that damned lake -- she mouths the words against Emily's skin. _I. Love. You_.

Emily doesn't say anything, is already drifting off to sleep, but it's in the way her grip on Naomi's wrist tightens, that makes Naomi think that maybe she does understand, that not saying it out loud doesn't make it less true, how she feels. (Which may very well be the whole point, Naomi realizes, as her mind starts to grow hazy with sleep.)

Her grip now slack, Emily sighs in her sleep. Naomi.

Naomi kisses Emily's ear. Yeah, she murmurs, pushes up closer next to Emily. Yeah, she says, kissing Emily on the ear again. I'm here.


End file.
